Patrick Shiroishi - Forgetting Is Violent

A Closer Listen

Next year sees the 180th anniversary of the saxophone, an instrument that has flourished beyond anything its inventor could have imagined. A brass instrument that’s classified as woodwind, it arrived too late to really be part of a classical orchestra – composers were slow to orchestrate for it, or include it as a lead instrument for concertos. It took until the 1920s for Coleman Hawkins to establish its role as a solo instrument in jazz, in the sweet spot between ragtime and the smaller ensembles that came out of bebop. In the years since, the saxophone has become a fixture in horn sections for funk bands, an occasional part of a rock band’s line-up and, in the 80s at least, shorthand for the obligatory love scene in movies.

Part of the saxophone’s appeal is its versatility, which is rarely more apparent than in the hands of Patrick Shiroishi, who can go from ambient serenity to incendiary fire within bars. This contrast has perhaps never been better illustrated than on Forgetting Is Violent, which has its moments of calm, although the initial impression is that the music is motivated by a barely controlled rage. There’s a justifiable anger prevalent in the music here, from the racism experienced by his family over the generations to society as a whole. He’s explored the impact racism has on his family before, but here the focus is broader, and the second suite acts as a memorial to a relative. So in a break from his usual methodology, he’s widened the musical palette as well.

Shiroishi is a frequent collaborator, teaming up for duos, groups and guest appearances on a regular basis, but his solo albums are normally just that – solo. So it’s a surprise to see other artists listed on the credits, as he taps up another serial collaborator, Aaron Turner, who brings some heavy, impactful guitar playing on the opening three tracks. There’s also turns from Gemma Thompson (Savages), otay:onii (aka Lane Shi from Elizabeth Colour Wheel), Mathieu Ball of BIG|BRAVE and Faith Coloccia. Shiroishi obviously has a lengthy contacts list, and he’s making the most of it here, not overstuffing the sessions but choosing the correct musician for the right moment.

And, we’re happy to say, it works. The album is made up of two side-long suites, the first side roaring in before settling down, and the second building slowly to a powerful finish. “To protect our family names” opens with a voice that is layered into a multiplied mesh over which Shiroishi comes skronking in – I’m aware that this word is usually utilised in a negative light when writing about saxophonists but it’s meant in a very positive sense here. This is playing that grabs you by the collar and demands attention, and you’ve got to keep up. It’s about as ‘metal’ as a typically jazz instrument gets, and it’s eventually joined by Turner’s guitar, who blows any remaining doubters away. Things begin a bit more calmly on the second track “Mountains that take wing” where Shiroishi solos over a near ambient loop before the guitars of Thompson and Turner power in, first causing these jarring clangs and then turning everything into scorched earth where nothing else remains.

Things calm down after that opening blast. We’re almost in Julianna Barwick territory for the third track, and heading towards the sound of Lisa Gerrard for the end of the suite. In the middle of this, Shiroishi places a recording of his aunt, who talks about her first experience of racism; the music needs to be gentler here, because the message is what counts. Never mind the loud guitars, this is the part that really grabs the attention. Jo Ann Shiroishi is an anti-racism advocate, so she has probably spoken these words more times than she’d like, but it’s simple, straightforward and hits home.

The second side is more meditative, as befits a piece composed in memory of a family member who died of an overdose. There’s less saxophone here, as Shiroishi blends drone and field recordings to create a memorial. He sings over this drone on “Prayer for a trembling body” – it might be a melody without words, but it’s full of meaning. The suite gradually builds towards “Trying to get to heaven before they close the door” (which may or may not be a nod to Bob Dylan), as the vocals get blown away by the fearsome guitar grind of Mat Ball. It feels like the guitar and saxophone are playing in unity, releasing the grief through a cathartic blitz of noise, before giving way to Shiroishi’s voice. It’s a fine way to bookend a work, with both pieces acting as a mirror image of each other – although Shiroishi is a prolific musician, it’s clear he’s been waiting several years before feeling that these works were complete.

I’ll admit I felt underwhelmed when the first preview of this album was launched, but I was missing the context of the whole piece that makes a world of difference. These two suites are not really works you can take extracts from – you’ll miss the full picture. And both sides make more sense when sitting next to each other on vinyl. The appearance of guest musicians on Forgetting Is Violent is apt – at a time when people feel more alone and ignored than ever, the simple action of just hanging out with your buddies for a while, or finding friends in the real world rather than online, can make a difference. Together is better. (Jeremy Bye)